


By Book or Hand

by Nothingshire



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV)
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M, Pillar of Darkness, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 11:10:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5045998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nothingshire/pseuds/Nothingshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonathan Strange decides to test just how devoted Gilbert Norrell is to his books, using an original method of enquiry. Written for a prompt on the JS & MN Kink Meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Mr Jonathan Strange, magician, late of Ashfair, Shropshire and now of the Pillar of Darkness, of no particular shire at all, stood in the library of Hurtfew Abbey.

He was not alone: Mr Gilbert Norrell, once his tutor, then his enemy and now his friend and only Christian companion in this place behind the sky bustled about the high shelves that lined every wall of the pleasant vaulted room. Mr Norrell was engaged in one of his favourite pursuits; choosing, admiring and arranging a selection of his books prior to reading them in detail. This was no straightforward task. First, the book which he chiefly meant to study must be placed open on a great wooden lectern. But then, an attending set of other suitable companion volumes must be arranged like ladies in waiting on the desks and chairs around the lectern in suitable positions. It would not do for a volume which disagreed a great deal with the Queen book to be too near to her or for a work of the Argentines to have a place higher than one of the Aureates.

In this particular case, the reigning monarch of Mr Norrell’s book court was The Mirrour of the Lyf of Ralph Stokesie and Mr Norrell was trying to decide whether The Lyf of the Mirrour of Ralph Stokesie should be placed on a desk to its right or left. A True Record of the Crimes of Ralph Stokesie which disagreed so violently with The Mirrour was already placed on a stool to reflect its lowly status and lack of pedigree.

Mr Strange, meanwhile, considered Mr Norrell. The younger man was a good deal happier than might be expected, given that he was trapped in possibly eternal darkness far from the wife he loved and with no clear path to return to her through the many baffling worlds that shifted and changed outside the windows of Hurtfew. So long as he remained outside Christendom he did not suffer from the Gentleman’s Curse and would not die. Moreover, once the magicians were behind the rain, they had discovered that the Raven King had seen fit to return Mr Norrell’s books, given to him as a symbol of all English magic, to their home in the library at Hurtfew. Some might think this ungrateful or even contemptuous but Mr Strange and particularly Mr Norrell preferred to see it as a gracious hint that they would find the road back to their own times somewhere on the shelves.

In addition, Mr Strange and Mr Norrell’s own friendship had reached greater heights of intimacy than certainly Mr Strange (and Mr Norrell, Mr Strange assumed) had ever imagined they would. It seemed the natural consequence of their bond as the two magicians who had restored English magic and in no way a betrayal of Mrs Strange, since it existed so far outside the bounds of the everyday Christian world.

First there had been glances and brushes of the hands. Then there had been shy kisses and embraces. Now almost every night (or rather the times when they slept, since there was no day or night in this place) Mr Strange found Mr Norrell very happy to be kissed and caressed and pleased in whatever way his onetime pupil wished. Strange was always eager to babble for some minutes, once they had concluded, of the pleasure he had had from Mr Norrell’s endeavours and he wished that Mr Norrell would be equally free in his praises of Mr Strange’s efforts. But all Mr Strange received by way of review was a shy whisper that Mr Norrell was pleased to allow Mr Strange these liberties “for the good of English Magic” or “To ensure that you have no relapse into madness, Mr Strange.” In other words, Strange wished that his old tutor would be as open in his admiration of Mr Strange’s person as he was of the books he was currently caressing and stroking as he moved around the library.

With a sigh Mr Strange took a bite out of the pear in his hand and leant forward to examine The Mirrour of the Lyf of Ralph Stokesie on its wooden throne in front of him. Juice flew from the pear, Mr Strange coughed, and a drop came very close to the volume. Mr Norrell turned as if alerted by some magical warning in his ear.

“Mr Strange!” he exclaimed with a tut. “Do have some care!”

“I am sorry, sir” said Strange.”It was juice from a pear of the Raven King though. Maybe the book would not have minded. It must have suffered a certain amount of ill use in the past 250 years.”

“Not since it came into my possession” said Mr Norrell. “No book has ever been abused by food or drink or anything else once in this library.”

“Really, Sir?” said Strange. “Not a drop of tea when you were particularly engrossed in a passage? Not a crumb of seedcake or a smatter of hot chocolate? Not even....?”

“Not a crumb, a drop or a stain” said Mr Norrell. “From the moment that Childermass took them into his possession they were treated with the greatest care and respect. Anyway, you are wrong to think that their previous owners always treated them badly - at least in the North. They often knew that they were part of our magical heritage. I recall....”

Here Mr Strange adopted a look of polite interest and ceased to listen. He could not help thinking that - given the habitual state of Childermass’s fingernails - Mr Norrell’s former servant must have dug up most of the volumes in the library from a potato patch or a midden. But he kept this observation to himself and took another bite of pear.

Mr Norrell sighed. “If you must do that, sir, at least step away from the book. I do not think that it is too much to ask that you show these volumes the same consideration that I do.”

“That you do sir?”

“Yes,” said Mr Norrell. “The respect I hold for these books means that I would never allow a drop of anything to fall on them of any substance whatsoever. No sensual, bodily pleasure could ever outdo the pleasure that they have given my mind. The only time that any book of mine has ever suffered was in Portugal, as you know very well. I could never be induced to do them any harm at all. You may be sure on that point.”

“Indeed, sir,” said Strange “No pleasure at all? That is very interesting.” Mr Norrell had come to stand beside him in front of the lectern where The Mirrour lay open and ready to be worshipped. There was a large sturdy chair just behind them; Mr Strange threw away the pear and sat down in it all of a sudden. As he did so he drew Mr Norrell down with him so that that gentleman found himself perched comfortably on Mr Strange’s lap with his knees bumping up against the lectern, his back pressed to Mr Strange’s chest and Mr Strange’s left arm wrapped firmly around his middle.


	2. Chapter 2

“Mr Strange!” exclaimed Mr Norrell, although he did not seem annoyed so much as flustered. “What do you...? Oh!” For Mr Strange was making his intentions clear by using his right hand to unbutton Mr Norrell’s breeches and to arrange his clothing so as to have free access to his person.

Mr Norrell sighed and wriggled in his lap. “It is not that I am unwilling sir,” he said “but what of the book in front of us?”

“The book?” said Strange. “Oh, I do not think that it will be embarrassed sir. It must have seen a great many things in its time and it is not as if it can speak of them.” Meanwhile he had drawn a small bottle of oil from his robe pocket and begun to apply its contents to Mr Norrell’s person. Then he used his hand to begin a series of delicate strokes which he knew that Mr Norrell would find particularly pleasing.

“No, Mr Strange...Jonathan!” said Mr Norrell. “What I mean is that if you continue in this way then- there will be consequences – consequences which may..” He faltered and nodded at The Mirrour open so very close before them.

“Consequences, sir?” Mr Strange’s hand did not falter. If anything it became more insistent.

“Yes sir – the same consequences as there always are when you undertake this...” The rest of the sentence was swallowed up in a soft moan from Mr Norrell.

Behind him, Strange chuckled into Mr Norrell’s ear and continued the slow caressing of his prick.

“I think you mean that your pleasurable climax may damage the book. But sir, I can set your mind at rest using your own words. Did you not just tell me that no bodily pleasure could compare with the pleasure that these books have given your mind? That nothing could induce you to damage them by any means? Surely then, you will simply remind your prick that it is to show the volume all due respect and that it must not spend upon it. Even if I do this.” And he stroked Mr Norrell’s member with all five fingers in a manner that he knew would be particularly well received. 

Mr Norrell laid back his head on Strange’s chest and for some time was unable to speak except in gasps and moans. Strange for his part was content to listen to the sounds that he made, together with the sensations produced in his own person by Mr Norrell writhing helpless in his lap. But at last the older man spoke.

“Please, Jonathan, the book” he gasped.

Strange withdrew his hand apart from the lightest of touches and considered Mr Norrell’s prick. To be truthful it did not look as if it were at all conscious of the honour of being so close to Mr Norrell’s prized volume. Then again, it did appear to be making an attempt to stand respectfully to attention.

“I am sorry sir,” said Strange. “It seems that I have misunderstood you. You would rather I stopped and let you read the book instead. Here, I will take your spectacles out of your pocket and put them on for you and we will read quietly together.” He removed his right hand from Mr Norrell altogether but did not unwrap his left arm which was tightly clasped around the older man, even when Mr Norrell began to wriggle in his grasp.

Mr Norrell shuddered. “You must let me rise,” he said.

“I thought that you wanted me not to let you rise, sir,” retorted Strange and did not move his arm. “Please, read from the volume. I am always anxious to hear you discourse on magic.”

Mr Norrell squeaked with frustration. “Mr Strange! You must see that you – your hand - have brought me to a point where I must be satisfied by you or satisfy myself. So either let me – or let us- retire to my bedchamber or allow your hand to continue here until I reach the natural climax. Once you have closed the book in front of us and pushed it a little away of course,” he added hastily.

“Well, I am puzzled,” said Mr Strange with a grave air. “I thought it was certain that my humble attentions would not distract you from your books, sir. And I do not think it fair that you should be allowed to attend to yourself. Either you must be content with what enjoyment you have already received from me, even if it fell a little short, and commence reading – which surely is a much greater pleasure than anything I could give you. Or else you must let me continue to the natural end and the book must take its chances. Which would you prefer? And as for moving the book” - he held out his own oiled hand for inspection and Mr Norrell gasped in horror at the sight.

“Very well!” he exclaimed. “I wish you to continue and risk the book. Is that what you want me to admit? There, I have said it. You have drawn it out of me and now what else you draw out of me will ruin several pages of a very valuable work and I will never be able to read it again – assuming that it is still legible - without blushing. And still, even though I know this, I would rather have a few more minutes of your hand than that John Uskglass himself should appear here and read his own book to me. And if that gentleman should offer me his royal right hand to serve me as well I should still prefer yours. Is that plain enough?” His voice broke and Mr Strange began to fear that he had pushed the joke too far.

With a swift graceful movement he picked Mr Norrell up in his arms and placed him in the chair. Then he pushed the chair itself back a little and knelt before his old tutor. In a moment he had applied his mouth where his hand had been and clasped Mr Norrell’s hips. A short time later that gentleman was entirely satisfied and huddled back in Mr Strange’s arms, the two of them sitting together in the chair and The Mirrour quite unmarked before them.

“I am sorry that I teased you sir,” whispered Mr Strange and stroked Mr Norrell’s hair. “It is only that sometimes I feel that you allow me these liberties from a sense of duty and not because you enjoy them. In truth, I was jealous of the book I think. You speak of your love of these volumes so clearly and your love of me so little.”

Mr Norrell wriggled closer in his arms. “I am not used to the notion that I may give another pleasure,” he said. “Nor did I ever think that you of all people would need to be reassured of your attractions. But I will improve sir. I swear it. Perhaps very soon.”

He pushed himself up off Mr Strange’s lap and considered his former pupil with a scholarly eye. “You must be in need of some satisfaction yourself now,” he said briskly. “Suppose we begin?” He closed The Mirrour with care.

Strange smiled. “I should be delighted sir.” And how do you intend to proceed?”

“Oh,” said Mr Norrell “I shall copy you and add some refinements” And he leaned forward with as determined an air as any volume in the library had ever received.


End file.
